


if only in my dreams

by jugheadjones



Series: Merry Christmas, Baby! [6]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Holidays, LGBTQ Female Character, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: 16-year-old Penelope Blossom has always been a misfit - an outsider at school, ignored in her own family, and perpetually, painfully, single. But as the calendar turns over to 1992, she's determined to finally change that.All it takes is a few romantic letters to have everyone at school finally paying attention to her - including kind, gorgeous Sierra Samuels, popular Hermione Lodge, and her longtime crush, Hal Cooper. Even her cute-but-dorky lab partner, Fred Andrews, is hanging on her every word.There's only one problem: it's all based on a big lie. And if her classmates find out, they'll never want to speak to Penelope ever again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penelopeblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopeblossom/gifts).



When Penelope Blossom wakes up on New Year’s Day, she immediately sits up in bed and stretches, smiling as the high, beautiful ceiling of her bedroom comes into view. The _ old  _ Penelope, last year’s Penelope, might have snuggled back into her covers for a few more hours of sleep, but not this one. Everything had changed for her last night, and Penelope was starting 1992 - her winter semester as a junior at Riverdale High - as a brand-new woman. 

Penelope hops out of bed, hurrying to the mirror to pull a brush through her long red hair. She has to avoid the green evening gown that she’d tiredly discarded on the floor before crawling into bed, worn out from socializing at the New Year’s Eve party that Rose and Wilford permitted their three children to throw every year. Setting down her brush, Penelope quickly scoops up the dress, brushes it off, and puts it back on a hanger before pirouetting to the mirror again. Even with a bit of last night’s eyeliner still smudged beneath her eyes and her hair limp and rumpled at the crown of her head, she thinks she looks uncharacteristically beautiful. 

Her wide brown eyes are framed by long, dark lashes, and her thick red ponytail compliments her creamy complexion perfectly. Her braces had just come off that fall, and her white teeth are straight and even. Penelope’s heart begins to beat faster in a great spurt of hopefulness. 

The junior hugs herself, smiling at her reflection. Last night’s New Year’s Eve party had gone off without a hitch! Almost everyone from her class had shown up, and for once in her life, she hadn’t been left standing off to the sidelines. In fact, for the first time, people had paid as much attention to  _ her  _ as to Clifford and Claudius! All her life she had been known as the shy, awkward girl, but no more. Last night had made it clear that people were interested in being friends with her,  _ really _ interested. 

Best of all, she and Sierra Samuels had talked for hours and hours, and Penelope really felt like they might be on their way to becoming best friends. She had even picked out a late Christmas gift to give to her - a simple pair of silver earrings that Rose had given her last year and that Penelope had never worn. She thought they would look much more beautiful on Sierra, whose unique sense of style could make anything look good. 

To think she had been so nervous approaching Sierra last night! But Sierra had welcomed Penelope to her table, eager to share stories about her secret boyfriend, Tom. Once Sierra had heard about  _ Penelope’s _ current boyfriend - Clyde, a handsome baseball player from their rival school, Central High - the two girls had had something to talk about all evening. 

Penelope’s head was already dancing with fantasies of double dates the two couples might go on. Her mind had even floated to images of a double wedding - she had seen a spread for one in one of the magazines at Riverdale Drugs earlier in the month. 

Spending time with Sierra all evening would have been more than enough. But Hermione Lodge, the most popular girl in school, had happened to be passing by their table as Penelope was talking about Clyde and had demanded to know who he was. Pretty soon, Penelope had a whole cluster of elite Riverdale girls around her, wanting to hear more details about her handsome Central High boyfriend. 

Hermione’s crowd would never have given her the time of day otherwise, so Penelope had done her best to make sure the details were as exciting as possible. She described how handsome Clyde was, how he was six foot two with brown hair and blue eyes and an athlete's figure. A real poet, as well, she told them, always writing love letters to her - and she’d promised to bring some to school the next day to show them. Girls who used to ignore her had giggled and swooned and clutched their hearts, and even surly Alice Cooper had looked mildly impressed. 

Hal, Alice’s boyfriend, was pretty special too. In fact, Penelope had had a crush on him for years. But even Hal couldn’t hold a candle to Clyde and his love poems. Girls that Penelope had always been intimidated by were asking to meet Clyde, even complimenting her dress and hair and saying Clyde was lucky to have her. Penelope had never had so much positive attention in all her life as she had last night. 

There was just one itty-bitty problem: 

There was no Clyde.

Clyde didn’t exist. 

Penelope hadn’t meant to invent a whole boyfriend. She wouldn’t have done it at  _ all _ , only Sierra so loved to talk about Tom and it was obvious that Penelope being single was the only thing stopping them from having a proper, long conversation. What could the harm possibly be in telling her she had someone in Centreville, which was over an hour away? Sierra would never check out the story, and Penelope was sure that after a little while she would be interested in talking about Penelope  _ herself _ , not just Clyde. They could probably just forget about Clyde once they were best friends, or Penelope could fake a breakup or something. It would be easy as pie. 

In fact, it  _ was _ easy to talk about her pretend boyfriend, and after awhile Penelope had felt like she wasn’t really inventing at all. She could almost see him in her mind’s eye: handsome and sweet and well-mannered, with bright blue eyes like Hal’s and wavy brown hair like Fred Andrews. Clyde would always hold the door for her when she got out of his car, and she could go to his baseball games in the spring and cheer him on. 

Penelope had always felt like an outsider at school - her crush on Hal was just that, a crush, unrequited, and no other boy had ever so much as glanced in her direction. Compared to all the other girls in her class, who had gone on dozens of dates already, she felt like an ugly duckling. Worse than her lack of male attention, though, was the fact that Penelope had never found a girl who was willing to be her friend. They all seemed to turn their noses up at her, falling into established social circles and groups and never even sparing a friendly glance in her direction. 

But not anymore. Penelope changes quickly into a knee-length skirt and clean blouse, letting her red hair fall loosely around her shoulders before clipping it back with barrettes. She charges down the polished staircase, her stocking feet slippery on the wood. Clifford and Claudius wouldn’t be up for hours, yet, so now was her chance. 

She finds Wilford pouring over the daily paper as their maid, Helene, serves his coffee. Penelope smooths down the pleats of her skirt and clears her throat nervously in the doorway. 

“Father, may I use the typewriter?” she asks politely. 

Her adoptive father fixes her with a strong, supercilious look. “What for, Penelope?” 

Penelope already had an excuse at the tip of her tongue. “I’d like to write to a friend from horseback riding camp. Her name is Barbara Jenkins.” 

In truth, Barbara Jenkins was the name of one of the imaginary friends Penelope had invented for herself as a little girl. But Wilford Blossom wouldn’t know that. She crosses her fingers invisibly in the folds of her skirt. Her father is frowning. 

“Not now, Penelope. You’ll wake your brothers up with the noise.” 

“I can sit in the downstairs study, furthest from the bedrooms,” Penelope offers. Her heart is beating at a quick gallop. She couldn’t forge letters from Clyde by  _ hand _ , the girls would see through it immediately! Maybe she could pay Claudius to do it. No, anything Claudius did he’d tell Clifford about, and Clifford would tell their parents. They had to be typed. “Please, father.” 

“I suppose that would be all right,” concedes Wilford, as though the matter weren’t worth fighting about, and Penelope relaxes. She was glad her father hadn’t chosen this moment to make an example of her. He was probably worried about business, and eager to talk about it with her brothers. “Helene, fetch the typewriter and set it up in the study for Penelope, please.” 

“I can set it up on my own, Father,” Penelope offers. The typewriter was heavy, and Helene had her hands full with the tray of coffee. But Wilford fixes her with a deep frown that furrows his eyebrows together, and Penelope presses her lips shut. 

“Helene will do it,” he says, turning back to his paper. “And  _ don’t  _ pound on the keys. Type lightly.” 

Penelope has to wait for Helene to finish serving and tidying up. She seats herself on a carved wooden chair in the small library adjacent to her father’s study, drawing her stocking feet up as she thinks about Clyde, her eyes wandering over the mahogany bookshelves. How would he start his letters?  _ My darling Penelope _ , perhaps. Or:  _ Penelope, dearest.  _ Would he be shy, reserved in his affection? Or bold, bubbling over with adoration? 

Bold, she decides. Clyde wouldn’t care about what anyone thought of their love. He would write how he felt for her as unabashedly and unreservedly as Shakespeare writing sonnets to his Dark Lady.

_ My dearest Penelope _ , she composes with her eyes shut.  _ I have been counting the hours since I saw you last. My mind is filled with thoughts of you, and I long to kiss your lips again.  _

That wasn’t bad at all! Of course, she’d have to throw in some things about Clyde’s life in Centreville and make sure they matched up with the stories she’d already told. Perhaps he could tell her about his preparations for the baseball season: Penelope knew from her lab partner, Fred Andrews, that baseball didn’t start up until spring. She could always say Clyde was on the basketball team in the meantime, though she’d have to look up who was winning. 

Penelope tries to think of other things to put in her letter. The letter had to be absolutely  _ goopy  _ with love, otherwise, Hermione and her friends would lose interest. But it was tricky to write love notes to yourself. She tries to remember some of the love poems they had read in English class last semester. Penelope had been so enamoured with them, she had gone straight to the school library at lunch to check out all the poetry books she could. 

“Miss Blossom?” Helene raps sharply on the wooden doorframe of the library, dropping into a curtsy when Penelope turns to her with a start. “The typewriter is ready for you in the study.” 

“I’ll be right there, Helene,” Penelope replies, and the maid withdraws, her feet tapping sharply back up the wooden hall. Penelope stares at the books above her, her skin buzzy with nerves. The greatest love stories in the world were in this room. All she had to do was write one half that good for herself. Easy-peasy. 

Penelope hops off the chair, hurries across the threshold of the study, and seats herself in front of the typewriter. The blank white page cranked into the carriage is clean and inviting. If she closes her eyes, she can already picture the words that would permanently ink Clyde’s love onto the page. 

Penelope takes a deep breath, romantic words already floating in her mind, and begins to type. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiram was a rich boy and hermione was a mean girl, no take backs

“Ugh, don’t look now,” Hermione Reyes speaks up, tossing her glossy brown hair over her shoulder and diverting her attention to her chocolate milkshake. The brunette had met up with two of her fellow cheerleaders for New Years Day milkshakes, and the three girls were squeezed cozily into a corner booth at Pop’s, comparing Christmas gifts. “Penelope Blossom approaching.” 

“Where?” speaks up Tamara, one of Hermione’s fellow cheerleaders. She casts a glance over her shoulder at the door before Hermione seizes her by the chin and pulls her face back to centre. 

“I just said, don’t look! She’s coming over here!” 

Hermione, Tamara, and their squadmate Sandra all quickly divert their eyes to their meals, but too late. Penelope changes course and heads straight for their table, a big smile on her lips, and her eyes bright with excitement. Hermione shakes her head and leans in toward her friends. 

“She drives me crazy,” complains Hermione in a stage-whisper, rolling her eyes. “She’s such a busybody. I bet you anything she has some stale gossip for us.” 

“She’s so weird,” adds in Tamara with an appreciative snort. “Do you see what she’s wearing?” 

The three girls burst into giggles, their heads bent together, and Penelope pauses a few steps from their booth. She hadn’t heard what Hermione had whispered, but the evident closeness of the friend group gives her pause. To be honest, Penelope was uncertain about what she was doing at the Chok’lit shop in the first place. Most kids were there in groups of twos or threes, gobbling up hangover brunches or discussing their plans for the rest of the winter holidays. She had only stopped by in the slim hopes of finding someone to talk to - it was a beautiful winter day, and it would be awful to spend an afternoon like this alone. 

Hermione and her friends had seemed like the perfect group to try out Clyde’s new letter on, but maybe she’d been mistaken. Still, Penelope steels her nerves and walks straight up to them.  This was the new Penelope, she reminds herself. If she wanted to be brave and make friends, she had to start in the lion’s den. After Hermione and her minions, talking to Sierra would be as easy as breathing. 

“Hi, Hermione,” she speaks up bravely, the sweaty paper from the typewriter clasped in her hand. “Hi, Sandra. Tamara.” 

“Hi,” chorus the three cheerleaders, acting varying degrees of unenthused. Still, Penelope rallies all her courage and sits down on the bench next to Hermione, who looks shocked. Oops. Maybe no one was ever supposed to sit next to Hermione in the booth, unless Hiram Lodge was around. Penelope had noticed Tamara and Sandra always sat opposite her. 

“I’m glad I found you guys,” Penelope speaks up anyways, willing her voice not to shake. “I can’t believe how busy it is in here today.” She gives Sandra a smile, which the cheerleader doesn’t return. “I guess everyone’s out for New Years Brunch.” 

“Not busy enough, if you ask me,” comments Tamara. She’s pulled out a flowered compact and is idly brushing her hair, watching herself in the mirror. 

“She’s talking about boys,” Sandra speaks up, yawning and covering it with a perfectly slender hand. “Tamara thinks Riverdale has a total deficit of eligible males.” 

“Anyways,” Hermione cuts in, before Penelope can pounce on an opening to bring up Clyde, “Hiram said he’d take me out in his new Jaguar today. His dad bought it for him for Christmas.” She fluffs up her dark hair, her eyes glittering. “And he said he had an extra Christmas gift for me too. As if the beautiful diamond earrings and matching necklace weren’t enough!” 

“You’re so lucky, Hermione,” says Sandra. “I bet he gets you a ruby ring. Didn’t you say he was with you when you saw that one in the window downtown?” 

Penelope sits back and listens as the trio resumes their conversation, looking at Tamara’s flowered compact and wishing she had something to contribute. She wanted so badly to be accepted by them, to be part of their group, to say something that might interest them. Finally, when the cheerleaders have finished speculating what Hermione’s Christmas present from Hiram might be, Penelope speaks up:

“Was that a Christmas present, Tamara?” 

All three girls turn to look at her. Penelope blushes. “The compact,” she supplants. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Oh, this old thing?” Tamara snaps it shut and looks critically at it. “I guess it’s okay.” 

The conversation resumes, this time about the pros and cons of various boys in Hermione’s science class. Penelope racks her brains for something to talk about. She couldn’t stand it if she got shut down one more time. 

“I don’t suppose any of you heard about Alice Smith and FP Jones?” Penelope asks at last. 

“What, are they both going to prison?” asks Hermione with a snort. Tamara titters, but Sandra looks mildly interested. Penelope sits up importantly. You could always count on a spot of good gossip to make friends! 

“I’m sure you all noticed Alice storming off the dance floor last night,” she speaks up, her words meaningful. “Well, the way I heard it, FP asked Alice to my party first, but she turned him down for Hal. Hal was supposed to pick her up in his dad’s new Cadillac, but at the last minute his dad must have changed his mind, because he had to use his mom’s Honda Civic. It’s blue, I think. Alice was upset, so she spilled shrimp cocktail sauce on his tie. Hal had to go to the downstairs bathroom to clean it off, and on the way back he saw her dancing cheek-to-cheek with FP Jones. Kissing him, too.” 

Actually, the way Penelope had heard the story, FP and Alice had just been talking. But she decides to embellish it a bit, just to make sure Hermione and her friends were interested. “Hal and Alice had a huge argument and Alice stormed out without even saying goodbye.” 

Penelope looks expectantly from one face to the next, but no one seems particularly riveted by her news. Sandra is playing with the ends of her hair, and Hermione has turned her gaze away to sip from her milkshake. “Hm,” says Tamara in a bored voice, opening her flowered compact again. “I guess that means Hal Cooper’s available.”

Penelope’s blood runs cold - Hal Cooper was her secret crush! - but Sandra quickly speaks up and unknowingly saves her. “He’s so not your type, Tamara.” 

“I doubt Alice cares what car she drives in, so long as there aren’t bars on the windows,” interrupts Hermione. “And in any case, I’ll get the real story from Hiram. He’s Hal’s best friend, you know.” She fluffs her hair again, wiping some chocolate off her lower lip. Amazingly, her lip gloss stays intact. “So, speaking of Hiram-” 

But by some miracle, Tamara seems to have heard enough about Hiram and his Jaguar. “What’s that, Penelope?” she asks, zeroing in on the paper clenched in Penelope’s hand. “Don’t tell me that Mr. Dalton assigned us homework over the break.” 

“It’s not homework,” replies Penelope, hugging the falsified letter to her chest. Her heart is thudding like a jackhammer. “It’s only the most beautiful love letter from the most beautiful boy in the whole world.” 

Tamara and Sandra exchange a  _ look _ , but for once Hermione ignores them. “Are you talking about that guy from Greenville?” the head cheerleader speaks up, looking uncharacteristically interested. “Connor or something?” 

“Centreville,” corrects Penelope dreamily, “and his name is Clyde. It came for me this morning,” she adds, when Hermione’s interest seems to lapse, her eyes turning back to her milkshake. “He says he’ll call me tonight, and I expect we’ll talk for hours and hours. We always do, especially when we haven’t heard from one another in awhile.” 

“What do you talk about?” asks Hermione cooly. 

“Oh, this and that,” answers Penelope evasively. “School, and things. Mostly he talks about how much he loves me, and he’s counting the hours until he’ll see me again. It gets kind of embarrassing, actually.” She pretends not to notice Sandra and Tamara giggling behind their hands. “He’s such a romantic.” 

“When  _ will  _ he see you again?” Tamara wants to know, looking up from behind her palm. Penelope blushes. She’d hoped to distract them all from the practical details of her relationship with Clyde, substituting them for how handsome and lovely he was. 

“Well, you know,” she says hurriedly. “Probably quite soon. It’s just an awfully long bus trip, and-” 

“Not that long,” Sandra points out. But Tamara wrinkles her nose. 

“Ugh. I could never do long distance.” 

Hermione puts her hand out for the letter, palm up. “Let’s see it,” she demands. Hoping her blush doesn’t show on her face, Penelope passes over the letter that she’d worked diligently all morning on. Hermione reads aloud from the front page: 

“My darling Penelope. Hmm.” She scans the letter, her voice suddenly taking on a confused tone. “Remind me not of those beloved, vanished hours, when all my soul was given to thee. Hours that may never be forgot - Are you kidding me?” she interrupts. “Is this guy for real? Does he really talk like this?” 

Penelope blushes to the roots of her hair. “Of course he’s for real,” she says peevishly. “He’s just an old-fashioned romantic, that’s all.” 

“When do we get to meet Clyde?” a voice interrupts them. All four girls look up to see Sierra Samuels standing at the head of their table, looking absolutely perfect in a pink sweater and denim vest and skirt over patterned leggings. She smiles at Penelope. “He sounds as completely amazing as he did yesterday, Penelope. In fact, Tom’s been suggesting he and I go on more double dates, to keep up the cover, of course-"

“You know,” says Hermione dryly, “Part of having a secret boyfriend, Sierra, is that you don’t have to talk about him every single hour of every day.” Still, she and her friends seem a lot friendlier to Sierra than they had been to Penelope alone. Penelope notices that Tamara and Sandra actually scooch over in the booth to make room for Sierra to sit down. 

Sierra ignores Hermione’s words, balancing a tray of empty milkshake glasses in her hands. “Did he write you another letter?” she asks Penelope, her eyes landing on the typed paper in Hermione’s hand. “You are so lucky.” 

Hermione yawns. “Let’s go, girls.” She rises from the booth, pushing Penelope a little with her hip as she tosses some money on the table. “I can feel the calories piling on from sitting here.” 

Penelope waits with bated breath as the cheerleaders file out, squeezing in her stomach so Hermione can get around her. Maybe she hadn’t impressed Hermione and her friends all that much, but being alone with Sierra again was more than she could hope for. 

“I have to go too,” Sierra says apologetically, and Penelope’s heart sinks. “But hey, you should come sit with Tom and I at lunch on Monday. And bring any more of Clyde’s letters, if he sends them. I’d love to hear them, and maybe it’ll give Tom some romantic ideas.” 

Penelope can barely get out a thank you. An invitation to sit with Sierra at lunch! Things really were changing. This really was going to be the best school year of her life. “I will,” she squeaks out. And then, for good measure, her voice a little stronger - “I really like your vest, Sierra.” 

“Thanks! I like your barrettes.” Sierra gives her a big grin, and Penelope almost rips them out of her hair there and then. If Sierra wanted every single barrette that Penelope owned, she would have given them to her. “See you on Monday!” 

“See you on Monday,” Penelope echoes as Sierra walks away. Her hands are anxiously crumpling Clyde’s letter on the table, and she forces herself to stop. She’d need another letter by the time school started again, and probably a great story about a date or two. 

Fortunately, Penelope had nothing to do for the rest of the week. It was very plausible that she could have spent it with Clyde. In fact, it would be a great cover story for why she wasn’t partaking in the same activities as the other kids. And by a few weeks into school, she’d never have to worry about not having friends again. Far from it. 


	3. Chapter 3

Penelope looks uneasily around the cafeteria on Monday afternoon, searching for Sierra’s curly hair among the masses of students. She had spent all day trying to act like the  _ new  _ Penelope - saying cheerful hellos to other students in the halls, trying not to raise her hand so much in class - but it was getting tiring. Thanks to the stash of typed letters she kept in her bag, though, she has a feeling she’s going to enjoy lunch. She had written the most beautiful letters for Clyde to send her, and in a stroke of luck, had remembered the heart-shaped, diamond-studded locket Rose had bought her when she was younger.

Penelope had always thought it was too babyish to wear to high school, which meant that none of her friends had ever seen it. It would be easy to pass it off as a Christmas gift from Clyde, and Rose would never have bought anything that didn’t have real diamonds. The locket was almost as nice as Hermione’s new jewelry, and someone at the lunch table was sure to ask about it. 

She’d also wrapped the earrings for Sierra, and they were nestled in her purse next to the letters. Penelope’s heart was bubbly with excitement. She scans the lunch line ahead of her again, growing frantic as she fails to pick out her friend for the second time that day. Suppose Tom and Sierra had decided to leave campus for lunch? Suppose Sierra was out sick? Or worse, what if she forgot she had asked Penelope to eat with her at all? 

“Penelope!” someone shouts, and Penelope turns quickly. But it’s only Alice Smith - striding toward her in her black Doc Martens with a venomous look in her eyes. _Uh oh._ Alice gets right up in Penelope’s face, her hands on her hips. “Do you mind explaining what you’re trying to do to Hal and I?” 

“Hal?” Penelope asks innocently, her palms beginning to sweat. 

Alice is furious. “Half the school knows that dumb story you’ve been spreading about me and Hal fighting on New Year’s! For your information, Hal couldn’t care less if I talk to FP, and I couldn’t care less about FP if I tried. Who the fuck asked you to poke your nose in our business?” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” begins Penelope sincerely. “I was only passing on what I heard --” 

“You were only being a little creep, you mean!” Alice plants her hands on her hips. “You’d better stay out of my love life from now on, or I’ll clock you! And that’s a promise.” Threat delivered, Alice turns on her heel and storms away. 

_ Boy, is she ever sensitive _ , thinks Penelope, abandoning the lunch line and looking around once more for Sierra. How was Penelope supposed to know it wasn’t true?  _ What does Hal ever see in that girl?  _

Her heart thrills as she catches sight of Sierra at last, sitting with Fred Andrews and FP Jones at a long table by the window. Tom is there too, and though he’s trying to act like he’s talking mostly to FP, his body is angled toward Sierra the whole while. Penelope’s heart begins to pound as she approaches them. 

“Hi Sierra-” Penelope begins hopefully as she approaches, but no sooner have the words left her mouth than someone in the busy cafeteria shoves her from behind. Penelope lets out a yelp as she loses her balance and goes flying forward, her empty tray clattering from her hands. Thank God she hadn’t been carrying any food! She would have ended up with spaghetti all over herself, and she’d tried so hard to look nice today. 

On her hands and knees, Penelope tries to look up to see who had pushed her, but all she can see are legs. Her eyes burn with humiliation, and she struggles to wipe her tears before she gets to her feet, leaving her overturned tray a few feet away under the jock table. She scoops up her purse and cradles it to her chest. 

“You okay?” A hand suddenly reaches out to steady her, and Penelope looks up to see Fred Andrews, her lab partner and Riverdale High’s baseball star, leaning over from the bench. FP and Tom, on the opposite side, are staring at her. “Nice dive. You could go out for the swim team.” 

Fred was also Riverdale High’s class clown, but for once Penelope didn’t appreciate his sense of humour. “Real funny,” she snaps, but softens when she sees him holding out her glasses for her. They’d gone flying off her head when she’d landed on the floor. 

“Don’t worry, they’re not broken,” Fred speaks up, assuaging her worst fears. Rose would be furious if she’d broken her glasses, and she’d look like a total dork all throughout last period. Penelope swallows hard and puts her glasses back on, forcing herself to return Fred’s warm smile. Clyde would be like Fred, she decided, always sweet and kind. 

“Thanks,” she says shakily, turning to face Sierra at last. Her heart plummets when she realizes Sierra’s not alone - Hiram Lodge and Hermione Reyes have squeezed in on the bench around her, which means Penelope has a pretty good idea who had shoved her from behind. Hiram ignores her completely, talking loudly about his new car, but Hermione gives her a big smirk before turning away. 

“Yoo-hoo!” Hermione calls, waving her hand. “Alice! Come sit with us!” 

Penelope’s heart sinks even further. Hermione must have seen her altercation with Alice, and decided to invite her over just to make Penelope miserable. Penelope sucks in a deep breath and squeezes onto the bench next to Fred. It’s not as close to Sierra as she’d like to be, but she’ll take it. “Hi Sierra,” she speaks up bravely, ignoring Hermione. “How was your break?” 

Sierra smiles across the table at her, scooping the last of her jello out of the container. “It was amazing. How about you?” 

“Well, actually,” says Penelope, setting her purse down on the table. “It was wonderful. Clyde and I-” 

She’s interrupted when Alice clumps over, glaring openly at Penelope, and then turning to face Hermione. “What?” Alice grouches. 

Hermione puts on a big, fake-nice smile. “I just thought you’d like to have someone to sit with,” she says sweetly and innocently. Hiram snorts into his thermos. “Since Hal’s out of town on the biology trip.” 

“Why would I sit with you?” Alice asks bluntly. Fortunately, Fred speaks up to diffuse the tension, patting the bench on his other side, his grin never faltering from his face. 

“Alice, quit griping and come sit down.” Somehow, Fred and Alice had been best friends since they were little kids. “My mom packed tuna salad, and you can have some if you want.” 

That does the trick. Alice stomps all the way around the table and sits down next to Fred. Even with the baseball player in between them, Penelope leans a little ways away as Fred splits his sandwich down the middle. It wasn’t just her - everyone in school was terrified of Alice Smith. Everyone but Fred, that was. 

“Penelope, you were talking about Clyde,” Sierra speaks up, and Penelope’s heart beats faster at the sound of Sierra saying her name. “Has he sent you any more letters?”

“As a matter of fact, he has,” Penelope replies, ignoring Alice’s eye-roll. She unsnaps her pocketbook and reaches inside with shaking fingers. “But that’s not the best part. I went up to Centreville to see him for the last week of vacation, and we had the most amazing week of dates.” She withdraws a sheet of folded, cream-coloured stationary and keeps it closed in her hand. “We went skating and sledding and drank hot cocoa by the fire.” 

Actually, when Penelope pictures herself doing those things, she thinks about herself with Sierra. As friends, of course! But she tries hard not to dwell on that. Sierra had Tom, and she had Clyde. Well, kind of. 

“Why doesn’t he come here?” Sierra asks. “We’re dying to meet him.” 

Penelope was sure Sierra hadn’t meant anything malicious by that, but Alice suddenly butts in, her tone skeptical. “Yeah, Penelope, why doesn’t this guy come here if he’s so great?” 

Tom, FP, and Fred are listening closely. Penelope thinks fast. “He would,” she lies quickly, “it’s just- he doesn’t have much money. And bus fare is expensive.” 

“Imagine dating a loser without any money,” Hiram speaks up, nudging Hermione with his elbow. Fred, beside Penelope, scowls and stabs his spaghetti. Hiram turns to face her, smirking. “That’s a rough break, Penelope.” 

“It’s not so bad,” she argues bravely, even though Hiram’s talking about his car again, and isn’t listening. “The distance makes it romantic, anyway, and I love getting letters.” 

“You said this guy’s on the baseball team?” FP asks, wolfing down Fred’s jello. Fred throws a pea at him. “What does he play?” 

“Shortstop,” Penelope blurts out. She’d actually been at the school library earlier today, poring over a book of baseball rules, just in case. Penelope was always prepared. “But he’s new to Central, so he didn’t get to play much last season. I don’t think he ever played against our team.” 

“Hm.” FP loses interest, picking at Fred’s fries. Penelope seizes the opportunity to turn to Sierra, her fingers toying with the tiny Christmas gift box tucked inside her purse. “Sierra, I actually have a -” 

“Did you get another letter from him?” Hermione butts in loudly, and Penelope frowns. Sure, it was nice to have the most popular girl in school’s undivided attention, but did she have to be so bossy? All the same, she rearranges her face into an appropriately dreamy expression. 

“Yes, last night. He sent it home with me on the bus, and told me not to open it until we’d pulled out of Centreville entirely. So I wouldn’t miss him too much.” 

Penelope sneaks a peek at the folded paper, just to make sure she’s holding the right letter. She had typed a whole bunch of them on the typewriter last night, in case anyone asked for letters from before New Year’s. Something like a trance had come over her, and she had typed and typed for hours, only pausing to consult the occasional poetry book. 

Penelope knew she couldn’t copy poems word-for-word, but there was no harm in being inspired, was there? Those poems were so much more special and romantic than anything she could think up. Imagining herself as the woman those poets were writing for made her feel so beautiful. She had no doubt Clyde  _ would _ write love poems about her, if he was real. 

When Penelope was typing the love letters, nothing else mattered. It was like getting in touch with the person she dreamed of being, just for a moment. When her fingers were flying over the typewriter keys, words of love and romance pouring from her fingers, she finally felt like somebody. Someone special. 

“Can I see?” Fred wants to know, breathing tuna salad breath in her ear. Penelope pretends not to hear him, her eyes on Sierra. But Sierra is looking over at Tom again, so Penelope passes it obediently to Fred. 

“Woah.” Fred’s eyes widen as he reads the paper. “This guy is the real deal. He seriously wrote this stuff?” 

“Let’s see it,” Hermione announces, leaning over the table and plucking the paper out of Fred’s fingers. Penelope starts to feel a little nervous for the first time. Maybe there was such thing as too much attention. 

“My darling Penelope,” Hermione reads out loud. “My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, my blood runs coldly through my breast. When I perish, thou alone will sigh above my place of rest.” 

Alice arches an eyebrow. “A little dramatic, isn’t he?” 

“Let me-” begins Penelope nervously, reaching out for the paper, but Hermione holds it back. Hiram, whose attention had been roused by the word ‘breast’, peers over her shoulder. 

“By the time you read this, you will be on the train back to Riverdale, and my heart will be all the more broken,” Hermione reads. “Minutes apart from you feel like hours, and hours apart from you feel like days. There will be none other with a magic like thee, and forever like music on the waters will be thy sweet voice to me.” 

Fred is leaning on his hands, looking captivated, but he’s the only one. Tom and FP are tossing peas at each other. Sierra is fixing her hair in the reflection of her spoon. And Alice is smirking at Penelope in a way that makes her nervous. 

“Would you mind not reading the rest out loud?” she asks Hermione. “It’s private.” 

“Sexy?” Hiram wants to know. He squints at the typed letters, no doubt looking for more instances of  _ breast. _ “How dirty does it get?” 

“He bought me this for Christmas,” Penelope speaks up to distract from Hiram, touching the necklace around her neck. She’d only just remembered that she was wearing it. Sierra and Fred _ ooh _ appreciatively, and her heart feels lighter. 

“That looks expensive,” Hermione speaks up, passing the letter down to Sierra, who reads it and passes it on to Fred, looking pointedly at Tom as she does. Fred taps Tom’s shoulder and hands it to him. “I thought he was poor.” 

“He saved up for a long time,” Penelope replies quickly. “That’s why it’s so romantic.” 

“Is it engraved?” Hermione wants to know. “Because it’s not _ really  _ romantic unless it’s engraved.” 

“No, but I still like it.” Penelope quickly turns to Sierra, her head spinning from all the attention. “I got you something,” she speaks up, withdrawing the little gift from her purse and nudging it across the lunch table to her friend. Rose would have fainted at Penelope’s rudeness if she’d seen her give a gift to only one person in a crowd of friends, but at the rate they were going, Penelope wouldn’t have another chance to give it to Sierra until they were ninety! “It’s a late Christmas gift.” 

Sierra opens the box with a cry of joy. “They’re beautiful! I’ve been wanting new earrings!” She hops out of her chair and hurries around to Penelope’s side, wrapping her in a hug so warm and gentle that every thought of Clyde flies out of Penelope’s head. She thinks she might float right off into the sky, until Sierra puts her lips near Penelope’s ear and whispers something that yanks her right back down to earth. 

“I can’t wait to wear them on our double date.”

Penelope’s still smiling as Sierra draws back, but her heart is starting to beat really fast, like a hummingbird. Ordinarily she would be over the moon at the thought of a double date with Sierra, but before that could happen, she’d have to procure Clyde somehow. Which, of course, was impossible. Because Clyde didn’t exist. 

Sierra had her heart set on meeting him. How could she lie to the only friend she had? The one who really mattered? What if Sierra found out and hated her? 

“Imagine saving up for a gift. He must be really special.” Alice’s voice at her elbow has gone sincere, and Penelope feels her blood run cold. Alice was never kind or sincere, unless she had a reason. She grins at Penelope - an evil grin. “I’d really love to meet him, wouldn’t you guys?” 

Alice looks around the table, until everyone’s nodding, and then back at Penelope. “So it’s settled. We all want to meet him.” 

“You’ll meet him,” replies Penelope evasively, swallowing hard when she sees the look Alice shoots at Hermione. How did Alice know? Or did she only suspect? Maybe Penelope was a dunce. She’d made Clyde out to be so great - there was no way a guy like him could fall for a girl like her. 

No, she thinks furiously. That was the old Penelope speaking. The new Penelope was well-worthy of such a great boyfriend. One who wrote love poems, and bought her gifts, and made her laugh… 

Fred cracks a joke about the cafeteria spaghetti, but Penelope is the only one who isn’t laughing. Suddenly, her great idea doesn’t seem so great anymore. 

She had to figure out a way to get everyone’s minds off of her perfect boyfriend - fast. 


	4. Chapter 4

“She’s lying,” Hermione declares. 

She and Hiram are sitting at the Chok’lit shoppe after school, a basket of fries and a glass of ice water between them. The fries were Hiram’s, but Hermione kept sneaking a few out of the basket anyways. He lets her do it, then pops a few in his mouth and brushes his hands off. 

“Probably, but who cares?” Hiram chews the fries and lets his foot slide against Hermione’s under the table, just a little. She doesn’t even react, just keeps drumming her fingers against the laminate. “At least you’ve got a real flesh and blood boyfriend right here.” Hiram had somehow won out against Fred Andrews over the winter, and had been reaping the rewards ever since. “Speaking of which-” 

“No, you don’t understand,” Hermione turns to Hiram, a wicked gleam in her eye. Her fingers keep tapping. “I talked to Alice after lunch today. She says Hal’s got a whole bunch of books on Lord Byron, and that those poems sounded awfully familiar to her. She’s going to check, but she’s ninety-nine-percent sure that those poems Penelope’s boyfriend wrote were written by some dead guy a trazillion years ago.” 

Hiram lets out a guffaw. “I could have told you that, Hermione. No sixteen-year-old boy is going to sit around thinking up love poetry. They’re going to plagiarize it. Pure and simple.” 

“He didn’t plagiarize it!” Hermione exclaims. “He didn’t do a thing, because he doesn’t exist. Come on, don’t you think there’s something weird about this?” She leans closer to him, her eyes blazing, and Hiram loses track of what they’re talking about. He loves when Hermione gets all worked up like this. “This guy is perfect, right? Way out of her league. So how the hell is he going to fall in love with  _ Penelope Blossom? _ ” 

“What are you getting at?” asks Hiram, sliding his foot slowly up and down her ankle. He leans even closer, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. Vanilla and lavender. Mmm. 

Hermione grins. “I think she wrote those letters herself. Why would Clyde type them, unless he has something to hide? Why not write them by hand?”  

Hiram still isn’t convinced. “Hermione, the guy probably just has shitty handwriting.” 

Hermione leans back from him a little, frowning, tugging her leg away from him under the table. “Oh, come on,” she pouts. “You just know the Blossoms have a typewriter lying around that old mansion of theirs. It all fits.” 

“Hmm..” Hiram picks another fry out and chews thoughtfully on it. “Come to think of it, Claudius handed in some typewritten pages for Business the other day.” Truthfully, his classmate had done no such thing, but there was no harm in telling Hermione what she wanted to hear. “You might be onto something.” 

Hermione pounces on him, her hand fastening tight to his wrist on the table. “Can you get those pages?” 

Hiram furrows his brow. “What?” 

“Get those pages! I’ll get the letter, and we’ll compare them!” 

“I, uh, it’ll take too long,” Hiram invents. “We won’t get our marks back for awhile. Besides, even if they don’t match, it doesn’t prove anything. They could have more than one typewriter.” 

“You’re right.” Hermione draws her hand back, tenting her fingers and narrowing her eyes. Hiram sighs. There was no use trying to ask Hermione on a date when she was in revenge mode. The best thing he could do was let the problem play out. 

“When did she say this Clyde was coming to visit?” Hiram prompts. It’s already a week into January, but Pop is still playing Christmas carols - they’re listening to a sultry rendition of  _ Santa Baby  _ over the jukebox. He munches another handful of fries. 

“That’s just it!” Hermione exclaims. “She keeps trying to wiggle out of it. She said he didn’t have any money to make the trip.” She pauses then, a smile slowly growing on her face. “Unless….” 

“Unless what?” 

Hermione flutters her lashes at him. “Hiram, you wouldn’t object to buying a late Christmas gift for Penelope, would you? Just one itty bitty bus ticket for her boyfriend Clyde to come down and see her?” 

Hiram snorts. Truthfully, the cost of a bus ticket wouldn’t even put a dent in his weekly allowance, but he was loathe to part with it anyway. “What do I get out of it?” he asks. 

“The satisfaction of seeing her crash and burn,” Hermione replies, her eyes burning like embers in the neon glow of the shop. Her toe gently prods into his shin, sliding up to his knee. “And anything you want from me.” 

Hiram swallows too fast and almost chokes. Hermione pouts again, rubbing his thigh with her toe. 

“I thought we were partners.” She props her elbow on the table and dangles her hand in front of Hiram, extending half a handshake. “Aren’t we? Because if we are, maybe you can come over to my house tonight and we can figure out a plan.” 

“Okay, deal,” says Hiram, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. She grins at him, and it’s impossible not to grin back. “Let’s get to the bottom of this Clyde guy, once and for all.” 


	5. Chapter 5

By lunchtime on Tuesday, Penelope’s fears about Clyde had abated somewhat. In her Ceramics class, a bunch of girls she had never spoken to before had flocked around her and asked to hear more about her week in Centreville until she was blushing with pleasure. Fred Andrews had asked her a bunch of questions about herself in science, when usually he never bothered to treat her as more than a soundboard for his dumb jokes. Sierra was wearing the silver earrings around the halls, and though she’d approached Penelope twice today, she hadn’t brought up the double date idea again. Penelope was beginning to hope that maybe Sierra would just forget the whole thing. 

By the time the bell rang for lunch, almost everyone in the school had paid attention to her. Straightening the locket necklace around her neck, Penelope hummed to herself as she made the short walk into the cafeteria and joined the queue for lunch. Hermione’s friend Sandra actually smiles at her, and Penelope’s heart begins to beat hard and fast. Was it possible? Was she popular?

“Hi, Penelope.” 

Oh. Penelope whirls around and realizes why Sandra had been smiling - Hermione was standing right behind her in line, with Hiram at her side. She blushes and quickly tries to stop it. There was no reason to blush. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

Hermione is cheery, with no trace of yesterday’s suspicion in her voice. “Hiram and I were just talking about Clyde,” she says perkily, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. “We thought when he came to visit, he might want to use the batting cages at Hiram’s house.” 

The Lodge mansion was chock-full of amenities, including two fully functional batting cages - despite the fact Hiram had never played baseball in his life. It was the kind of thing that made Wilford grumble over the breakfast table -  _ the difference between old money and new money _ , Clifford was fond of explaining. But it was certainly something Clyde would have liked to see - that was, if Clyde existed. 

Penelope forces a smile. “That’s so nice of you. But we wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“Oh, it’s no imposition at all,” says Hermione gaily. “So he is coming down, then? What weekend will that be?” 

“Um- He’ll have to check his schedule,” Penelope explains, hoping for a quick end to the conversation. She slides her tray a few inches and takes a jello cup from the lunch lady, Hermione and Hiram glued close to her side. “He might have a game - a basketball game!” she adds quickly, remembering in the nick of time that baseball was a spring sport. “He plays both.” 

“You never mentioned he played basketball,” speaks up Hiram, but Hermione elbows him in the side. 

“Let’s see,” she says sweetly. “I heard from Fred that Central and Riverdale already qualified, and aren’t playing this week. So Clyde should be able to come up this weekend. Which is perfect, because we’re going to throw a party.” 

Penelope’s mouth drops open. “You don’t have to do that,” she stammers. 

“It’s our pleasure! Come on, Penelope. Don’t tell me you don’t want to be the centre of attention. You can wear that green gown you wore for New Year’s. It was really pretty.” 

Tears begin to burn behind Penelope’s eyes. Hermione was right, it was a dream come true - _if_ she wasn’t going to look like a complete idiot when no one named Clyde showed up. 

“He’s really shy,” she tries, staring at the ground. “I don’t think he’d like being the centre of attention.” 

“He sure doesn’t sound shy,” laughs Hermione. “What did he write in that letter? My blood runs coldly through my breast?” 

“No guy who’s shy writes like that,” Hiram agrees. 

“You don’t know him like I do,” argues Penelope. Her lip is trembling. “He really doesn’t like parties.” 

“Well, I’ll just tell Sierra you two can have your double date, then,” argues Hermione. “That shouldn’t be too much for him, should it?” 

Penelope gulps. No way was she letting Hermione say anything about Clyde to Sierra. “Maybe I could convince him about the party,” she says quickly. “If it’s not too big.” 

“Perfect! Then it’s all set. We’ll have it at Hiram’s house. Saturday night. It’ll be amazing.” 

“Is that enough time?” Penelope tries to argue. “To get everything in order?” 

“More than enough! Don’t worry about a thing.” 

“Well, it might not be enough time for Clyde,” she says, inventing on the spur of the moment. “He doesn’t really like to do things last minute, and he’s awfully busy-” 

“Too busy to see you?” Hiram argues. “After he wrote all that stuff about his heart breaking without you? He’ll probably jump at the chance.” 

Penelope seizes one last surefire excuse. “He doesn’t have the money. He won’t be able to buy a ticket for Saturday.” 

But Hermione’s smile stretches even brighter. “I already thought of that.” She unsnaps her purse and dangles a bus ticket in front of Penelope. Penelope’s jaw drops. “Bought and paid for. All he has to do is show up.” 

“I-” Penelope stammers. “I can’t take that from you, Hermione. That’s - That’s too generous.” 

“Nonsense.” Hiram grabs the ticket and slaps it into Penelope’s palm. “We insist.” His smile gets big and toothy, like a jack-o-lantern. “I just hate to see two people who can’t be together.” 

Penelope stared at the ticket in her hand. She knew she ought to say _ thank you _ , remember her manners, but thanking Hermione was the last thing on her mind. In fact, Hermione - knowingly or not - had just cemented Penelope’s fate. 

Once Sierra found out she was a fraud, there would be no more double dates. No more Christmas gifts, no more study sessions, and certainly no double wedding. Their friendship would have fizzled out before it even began, and Sierra meant more to Penelope than anything in the whole wide world, even being popular. 

And what about the rest of them? Fred would hate her. Tom would hate her. Hiram and Hermione would hate her. Sandra and Tamara would hate her even more than they did already. 

But what could she say? 

“Thank you,” she manages to stammer, and Hiram and Hermione explode into chatter about how great the party is going to be and how excited they are to meet Clyde. Penelope’s heart crushes up like an old coke can as they walk away. No, no,  _ no.  _ She’d made a grave mistake. Now everyone they invited to that party would be expecting to meet her boyfriend. Her six-foot-two, baseball playing, brown-haired, blue-eyed, totally non-existent boyfriend. 

Penelope drags her tray through the line in a daze, suddenly hit with a wave of relief when she sees Hal Cooper sitting with a group of other biology students. Hal couldn’t fix her problem, but at least he would be a friendly face. And at least he was one person in this awful school who didn’t know about Clyde. 

Penelope drags her tray over to Hal’s table, the bus ticket sweaty and damp in her palm as she runs through reasons that she and Clyde could plausibly break up before Saturday. She’s halfway there when she stops short, noticing Alice approaching Hal’s table from the opposite direction.  _ Shit. _ Penelope turns quickly, but not before Alice sees her coming. It’s too late. 

“Penelope!” Alice says loudly, waving at her. “I was just telling Hal about Clyde!” 

Penelope wants to scream. 

She approaches their table with baby steps, her tray trembling in her hands.  _ Act natural _ , she orders herself. Taking a deep breath, she sinks down onto the bench opposite Hal, forcing a smile. She just had to act like it was any other day. 

“I missed you, Penelope,” Hal greets her. “Alice was telling me your boyfriend is coming down this weekend for a party. What’s he like?” 

Hal knew about the party! Already? How? Penelope’s cheeks flame as bright red as her hair. “We don’t have to talk about Clyde,” she says quickly. “Why don’t we talk about the biology retreat? How was the trip?” 

Hal opens his mouth to reply, but Alice cuts him off. “Oh, Penelope, I hope you don’t mind, but I promised Hal he could hear one of Clyde’s letters. I think he’ll really, _really_ like it.” 

Hal turns to Penelope with a smile and Penelope’s heart sinks as she looks into his honest face. Penelope couldn’t lie to Hal. Her little white lie had snowballed out of control, and it was time to take responsibility for it. She sucks in a deep breath, but when her eyes meet Hal’s blue ones, her courage falters. 

“Okay,” she says softly instead, snapping open her pocketbook with a feeling of dread. She passes Hal the first letter than her hand touches, eager to be rid of it. Hal smiles at her and glances down at the page. 

* * *

 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he starts reading the typed letter - Hal has no idea why Alice had been so over-eager to share something as private and un-Alice as someone else’s love letters with him. But as his gaze moves over the neatly typed words, a jolt of recognition hits him.  _ Place of rest, music on the waters…  _

He was reading Byron. That was what Alice had wanted him to see. Hal looks over to his girlfriend, whose eyes are dancing with mirth, a smirk on her lips as she watches Penelope. Hal sets his lips together, suddenly furious with her. Of course Alice knew it was Byron. That was the point of all this - to set him and Penelope up, expecting him to call Penelope’s boyfriend out on plagiarizing. Which was hardly fair! Hal would never condone that kind of thing, but the guy seemed sweet enough otherwise, and he refused to humiliate Penelope like that. 

Hal finishes reading the letter and forces a smile onto his lips, glaring at Alice momentarily before turning his attention to Penelope. Did Penelope know that the words weren’t authentic? He couldn’t tell. “It’s very nice,” Hal says truthfully. “He must really like you.” 

Alice snorts. “It doesn’t seem a little familiar to you?” 

Hal can’t argue with Alice in front of Penelope, but he squints at the blonde, trying to communicate with his eyes. Alice just rolls her own and stands up, swinging her messenger bag over her shoulder. 

“I’m off,” she announces loudly. “I just remembered I have an awful headache.” 

Hal sighs as Alice walked away. His girlfriend was wonderful, but sometimes she had a mean streak that he couldn’t tolerate. He turns to Penelope, leaning forward and lowering his voice: 

“Penelope, there’s something I need to tell you about these letters,” 

To his horror, he realizes Penelope’s eyes are swimming with tears. “Clyde didn’t write them!” she blurts out.

“Pen, it’s okay.” Hal reaches out and places a hand on hers. He smiles, relieved that she’d known the truth all along. “Lord Byron did, right? That’s why Alice asked me to read them, I guess, which was pretty nasty of her. She clearly didn’t think you knew, but I’m glad you did. And hey, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. They’re pretty nice poems, right?” 

Penelope swallows hard. 

“Don’t worry about it,” says Hal firmly. “He must like you a lot if he’s writing you notes like this. Even if he’s not writing his own poetry.” 

“Yeah,” says Penelope in a tiny voice. “I guess so.” 

A long silence stretches between them. Hal can’t help but feel that he hadn’t made Penelope feel any better. He opens his mouth to ask something else about her boyfriend, but Penelope interrupts him. 

“Look, Hal,” she says quickly, her lip quivering. “There’s something else you should know about Clyde-” 

Before she can say anything else, they’re interrupted by Tom Keller, plunking his tray down next to Hal’s. Penelope immediately bolts to her feet, grabbing her purse from the table. Tom looks up at her, surprised at the sudden movement. 

“Never mind,” says Penelope quickly, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll see you in last period.” 

Hal rises and follows Penelope as she hurries away, reaching out when she gets close to the cafeteria door to take her gently by the elbow. “Here,” he says, passing her two sheets of paper when she jumps. “You forgot the letter. And your bus ticket.” 

“Oh.” Penelope blushes as she shoves both papers into her bag. “Right. Thanks, Hal.” 

“What were you going to tell me?” Hal asks. Penelope looks down at her feet and then back up at him, her cheeks still tinged with pink. She bites her lip and rearranges her face into her usual perky smile. 

“Nothing,” says Penelope at last. “I'm just excited for you to meet Clyde, is all.” 


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the day is a blur to Penelope. She stumbles through her last two classes in a daze, messing up her half of the experiment dreadfully when she and Fred tried to prepare iodine crystals. They ended up so far behind the rest of the class that Professor Flutesnoot made them both stay behind to finish the experiment, which was basically like having detention. Penelope had never had detention in her life until now, but currently, that was the least of her problems. 

She barely knew where to start worrying. Alice and Hermione must know that Clyde’s letters were fakes. Otherwise, why would they push so hard? How long would it take before Sierra found out? Penelope had held her ground, but they must be able to see right through her! And soon they’d have the party, and Clyde would never show up. He couldn’t! He wasn’t real. 

If only Fred Andrews went to a different school. He didn’t exactly fit the bill - his eyes were brown and he certainly wasn’t six-two - but Penelope could be forgiven for exaggerating certain things, right? If only she could have Fred pretend to be Clyde. Of course, inventing a story about why Clyde couldn’t come would be so much easier. But then Hiram would only buy Clyde a bus ticket for the next weekend, and it was only a matter of time before they found out the truth. 

Penelope would be worse off than she had been before. She wouldn’t only be the weird girl - she’d be the weird girl who had lied to everyone about having a boyfriend in Centreville. Her cheeks burn and her hand shakes on the beaker. 

“Is Clyde really coming up for a party at Hiram’s?” Fred wants to know. He’s cheerfully measuring phosphoric acid, not even seeming to mind that he had to stay late for Penelope’s mistake. They’re alone in the lab, Flutesnoot having stepped out to yell at some kids who were skateboarding in the halls. “I can’t wait to-” 

“No,” Penelope interrupts harshly, before she can even think about what she’s saying. “Clyde isn’t coming to the party.” 

A strained silence follows her words. Fred looks from Penelope to the closed door of the classroom and back again, 

“Did you two have a fight?” he asks, a little wrinkle of confusion appearing between his eyes. 

Penelope feels tears welling up in her eyes. “No,” she says miserably, her eyes on the ground. If she stares hard enough at the tile, maybe it will swallow her up. “He just can’t come to the party, because - I made him up, okay?” 

Fred eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean?” 

“There is no Clyde.” Penelope mutters, still engrossed in the pattern on the floor. “I made him up so people would like me. I wrote all the letters myself.” 

Fred takes a moment to process this. Then he lets out a low whistle. “Shit,” he says, matter-of-factly. “That sucks.” 

Penelope brushes a tear from her eye and refuses to meet his eyes, her head bowed and her hair falling in her face. She hears the clink of Fred setting the test tube back in the holder, and the pad of his sneakers moving around the counter until he’s standing by her side. 

“Hey, Penelope, don’t worry about it. I’ve made up some dumb stuff too.” His hand touches her arm cautiously, and when she doesn’t pull away, he keeps it there. Fred’s voice is light, friendly.  “Did I ever tell you about the time I pretended to be from England in front of this exchange student? It almost killed me trying to keep up the accent. Or how about when I pretended to be a Junior Olympic gymnast to impress this girl from Baxter High? I couldn’t even do the splits.” 

“It’s not the same,” Penelope sniffs, the hot pressure of tears building up behind her face. Still, she can’t resist cracking a little smile. The thought of Fred doing the splits was pretty funny. 

“No, seriously,” adds Fred enthusiastically, spurred on by her reaction. Penelope looks up just enough to catch a glimpse of his face and then back down at her Mary Janes again. “I’ve been in the dumbest scrapes you can imagine. One time I accidentally made dates with Hermione and Mary for the same night, so I sat them at opposite ends of Pop’s and kept pretending I had to go to the bathroom while I ran back and forth between them.” 

“I know, Fred,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes. “I was there. You ended up with two milkshakes dumped on your head.” 

“Okay, well, you think that was bad? Once I told this girl at the beach I was FP Jones, cause he’s the star quarterback, you know? And then we had to switch identities for the whole weekend. He was really playing it up, too! He took out Hermione on Friday when I had a date with her. I was so mad, I almost killed him. Oh, and one time my dad told me to drop off this envelope full of money at the bank for his work, but I got distracted and missed the bank closing, so I stashed it in my tennis racket. Then my mom gave the tennis racket back to my buddy from Iceland who happened to be there that weekend, and he took it back to Iceland with him. I decided I was never going to get that money back, so I tried to earn $500 at the park being one of those living statues.” 

That does it - Penelope finally laughs. Fred grins and sits down on a chemistry stool, passing her a tissue from the box on the table. “See, it’s not so bad. So you told some dumb lie, so what. I’m sure you had a good reason.” 

Penelope blows her nose, still wishing she was anywhere but there. “I just wanted to fit in,” she admits. “All the other girls in school have boyfriends, and I’ve never had one. I thought if I had one, someone would finally want to be my friend. So at the New Year’s party I just started talking about this fantasy boy I had.” Her voice is wobbly with tears. “And everyone believed me, and I was getting all this attention, and I was finally happy. So I wrote the stupid letters, just so people would keep paying attention, but now -” 

“Now he has to show up at this party,” Fred finishes for her. “Geez, Penelope, that’s awful. But haven’t you ever tried to make friends a different way? Like, you could join a sports team, or-” 

Penelope stamps her foot. “Of course I’ve tried!” she explodes, before blushing and drawing back. “I mean - of course I’ve tried to make people like me. Ever since I was a kid. But no one ever paid attention to me before Clyde happened. I was sick and tired of being a misfit, that’s all!” 

Fred pats the stool next to him, and Penelope finally sits down, covering her face with her hands. “I get it,” he says kindly. “Believe me, I do. I used to be real self-conscious too, you know.” 

Penelope blows her nose again and looks at him incredulously. “You?!” She’s known Fred since they were in first grade, and to her eyes he’s always been unabashedly himself -- and surrounded by friends. “Yeah, right.” 

Fred grins at her. “Why do you think I tell all these jokes? It’s cause I thought people wouldn’t like me, otherwise. But the truth is, if you try too hard to  _ make _ other people like you, you’re just going to fall on your face.  _ Literally.  _ Like when you have to take a crash course in skateboarding ‘cause you told some hot girl you were Tony Hawk’s cousin.” 

“You’re making these up now,” Penelope accuses him halfheartedly, tracing the pattern of the countertop with her finger. She folds her arms on the counter and lowers her head into the crook of her elbows. 

“I wish I was.” Fred is watching her carefully, but he doesn’t move to put a hand on her shoulder again. Penelope almost wishes he would. “And trust me, I learned this through a lot of trial and error, but in my experience, it doesn’t matter if people like you. You just have to like other people. Pay attention to them and be nice. And then, eventually, the rest kinda follows.” 

“I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” says Penelope softly, wiping at the tears that are streaming down her cheeks. 

Fred grins. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.” 

“But what do I do now?” Penelope asks miserably, raising her head from the table. “Alice and Hermione are onto me, that’s why they pushed me into this dumb party. And now if I don’t show up with a boyfriend, no one will ever trust me again. It’s too late.” 

“Hey, it is not,” Fred argues. “You still have three - four days to fess up. If you tell them the truth now, you ruin all their fun. And you look like an honest person.” 

Penelope feels her throat closing up. An honest person! That was the opposite of what she’d look like. “I look like a loser without a boyfriend, you mean. And a liar.” 

“Hey, who needs a boyfriend?” Fred argues. “And everyone in this school tells a lie at some point or another. I could tell you lies Hermione’s told me that would make your hair curl. I won’t though,” he adds pointedly when Penelope looks hopeful. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” In her heart, Penelope knew Fred was right. She shakily picks up their beaker, stirring the chemicals together with a glass rod before setting it down and picking up the cylinder. Her stomach feels like it’s caught in a blender, and her tongue weighs a million pounds. “I’ll tell them the truth tomorrow. Let’s just get this done.” 

“Cool.” Fred grins easily and squeezes her shoulder again, just for a second. “It’ll be good, I promise. Then you can relax and enjoy the party.” 

_ Relax and enjoy the party, _ thinks Penelope sourly.  _ Fat chance of that. _ Instead, she’d probably spend the whole night hiding in the coat closet. What else could you do, when you were about to be made the laughingstock of the entire eleventh grade? 


	7. Chapter 7

“Rose,” Penelope asks nervously at the dinner table. Her adoptive mother pauses in the act of ladling more onions onto her daughter’s plate, her lips pinched sternly together. Rose insisted that Penelope call her by her first name, yet she never seemed to look pleased when Penelope had the daring to do so.

“Yes, Penelope?”

Penelope squirms on her chair. She was about to ask Rose for permission to go to the party on Saturday, and she was almost positive her mother would say no. It was such an elegant solution that Penelope had no idea why it hadn’t occurred to her before. If her parents disapproved, there was no way that she and Clyde could make an appearance. Rose and Wilford already had a reputation around town for being strict - no one at Riverdale High would question her. It was foolproof!

“May I go to a party this weekend?” she asks.

The clink of silverware on china pauses. Clifford and Claudius, who had been deep in conversation with each other, look abruptly in her direction. Wilford clears his throat and folds his paper disapprovingly, while Rose’s lips press so tightly together that they disappear. Penelope feels cheered. There was no way she’d be permitted to attend Hiram’s party, now. She could reimburse him for the bus ticket, and everything would be sorted.

“Who is hosting this party?” Rose wants to know. Her manicured nails tap menacingly on the side of the bowl.

“Hiram Lodge,” replies Penelope easily, the syllables dripping off her tongue like frosting. Hiram’s involvement with her torture was the cherry on top of the cake. Wilford hated the Lodge family and everything that they stood for - including their huge, white-and-iron mansion in the newer part of town. There was no doubt in Penelope’s mind that he’d refuse she take part in the party.

Sure enough, Wilford coughs loudly, and looks supercilious over at his wife. Penelope sits up straighter.

“I'm not going with Hiram Lodge, of course, just to see a few friends from classes. But if you disapprove, father, there's no need for me to attend. I’ll simply tell him-”

“Hold on, now,” Rose speaks up, putting a finger up to silence her daughter. “You may not approve of the Lodges, Wilford, but I don’t see anything wrong with Penelope learning to comport herself as a lady in the area’s high social circles.”

“God only knows what those people would teach her,” Wilford replies, but nods almost kindly at Penelope. “All right, then, Penelope, you may go.”

Penelope’s heart sinks like a stone. No, they couldn’t do this to her. Not the one time she actually needed them to put their foot down. They _wouldn’t._

“Will there be any drugs or drinking at this party?” Rose wants to know. Penelope seizes the occasion.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replies with confidence. “Both, I believe.”

“I haven’t heard of any such party,” Clifford speaks up, interrupting Rose’s reply. Penelope aches to slap him across the face. “I didn’t know you were close to the Lodges, Penelope.”

“I’m not, they’ve invited everyone in our grade.” Penelope shifts in her chair, and turns to Rose. “But since they’ll be drinking-”

“I trust you to choose what’s best for yourself,” Rose replies coldly. “You may go. I only hope you’ll steer clear of those street drugs the kids are doing. What is it called, Wilford?”

“Fizzle rocks,” Claudius speaks up, and then jumps a little, as though Clifford might have stamped hard on his foot under the table. He glares at his brother. “I only happen to know what they’re called.”

Penelope sinks lower and lower in her chair as Rose turns the conversation to the preparations of her church society for some annual picnic, deeming fizzle rocks inappropriate for the supper table. She could lie, of course, and tell Hermione her family had disapproved, but if Hermione and Hiram got to work on Clifford the truth would come out. No, Penelope’s last hope had vanished in a puff of smoke.

There was only one thing to do, and that was to track down Hermione and Hiram tomorrow and admit it. But boy, she wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

* * *

Penelope didn’t have to wait long on Wednesday morning. No sooner had the first bell rang than Hermione and Hiram approached her again, both wearing expensive boots and Cheshire-Cat smiles. Only this time, Sierra was with them. Penelope’s heart does a double backflip in her chest.

“Hi Penelope,” Hermione purrs - she talked like a cat too, Penelope thought, one that had just caught the canary. “Sierra and I were just talking about our outfits for Hiram’s party. We wanted to know what you were wearing.”

Penelope’s face turns bright red. She knew she should put a stop to the whole thing right now, but she just couldn’t admit to lying in front of Sierra. She had to play along for a little. “Oh, just any old thing,” she mumbles, looking at her feet.

Sierra looks shocked. “That won’t do, Penelope! You have to come shopping with us!” She glances at Hermione with a big smile. “Hermione invited me after school tomorrow. We’ll find you something that will knock Clyde’s socks off.”

Hermione beams at Penelope. “We can all do our hair together, too. It’ll be girl time. I’ll even give you a makeover, Penelope.”

Penelope wants to cry. Shopping and makeovers with Hermione and Sierra! It was all she had ever wanted in the whole world. In her wildest dreams, she never thought she’d be so lucky. But it was all a ruse. All designed to torment her, because Hermione must know somehow that Clyde was a lie.

Hermione is looking curiously at her. “Is there something wrong, Penelope? I thought you’d be thrilled. But then, we interrupted you, didn’t we.” The cat-ate-the-canary smile comes back on her face. “Was there something you wanted to tell us about the party?”

Penelope summons all her inner courage, but it only takes one look at Sierra to make her courage falter. She swallows hard. “No, that sounds really wonderful.”

Penelope sucks in a deep breath as Sierra squeezes her arm excitedly and hurries off down the hall. Sierra had no idea how much she treasured that touch.

 _I’ll tell them later,_ she tries to persuade herself as Hermione gives her a haughty look and flounces away, Hiram in tow. _As soon as I can get Hermione and Hiram alone._ But she knew she wouldn’t be in any hurry. In fact, she feels as relieved as anything that her story was still intact.

Still, Fred was right. She had to tell the truth. Because if a six-foot-two baseball player didn’t show up to that party Saturday night, Penelope’s social life was doomed forever. 


	8. Chapter 8

“Penelope!” 

Penelope turns around at the end of the hall with a heavy heart, her schoolbooks clutched to the front of her winter coat. If that was someone else wanting to tell her how excited they were to meet Clyde tomorrow, they were in for a rude surprise. Try as she might, Penelope hadn’t been able to admit the truth to Hermione. Every time she tried, she fumbled and got embarrassed and held her tongue, blushing and desperate for an escape. Worst of all, Hermione never seemed to be alone - she was always joined by Hiram, and often, Sierra. 

The three of them had gone shopping for new outfits on Thursday, and Penelope had bought a new black dress that Sierra had gushed over. It was a lovely dress, and tears sprang into her eyes whenever she thought of it - hung neatly at the end of her closet, a pair of shoes that Hermione had kindly lent her tucked underneath. Hermione had even styled her hair for her and offered to do her makeup, and then there was no way that Penelope could tell the brunette that she’d been lying. If she did, Penelope was convinced Hermione would take it all back. Worse, she knew Sierra would be furious with her. Penelope kept digging a hole deeper and deeper, and she could see no way out. 

And now it was Friday. The party was tomorrow. 

Penelope forces a smile when she sees who had called her name. “Hi, Fred,” she says quietly as the athlete comes jogging up to her. “What is it?” 

Fred smiles sympathetically at her, stopping by her side and rooting his hands casually in his pockets. “I just wanted to let you know Flutesnoot released the marks for our projects. They’re posted on the bulletin board. We got an A-.” 

“Oh.” Penelope’s heart sinks. As if she needed more bad news this week! Fred just keeps looking at her, a smile on his face. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “That’s like, the best mark I’ve ever got on a lab. Ever!” 

Penelope sighs, and Fred’s grin rearranges into an expression of understanding. 

“Have you told anyone the truth about Clyde, yet?” he asks. 

“No, but I will,” Penelope replies, looking down at her toes. She’s surprised when Fred reaches for her schoolbooks and politely tucks them under his arm. Penelope had never had anyone carry her books before. 

“I’m going the same way,” he explains with a soft smile, pushing his baseball cap a bit higher on his brow. “The party’s tomorrow, right?” 

Penelope cringes. “Yes.” 

Fred’s eyes stray to the ground as they begin walking toward the exit. “What are you going to do?” 

Penelope gulps. “I don’t know. I spend every single night worrying about it. I guess I’m just going to have to tell everyone once I’m finally at the party.” She blinks anxious tears out of her eyes. “Then I won’t be able to make any more excuses.” 

“That’s so brave,” says Fred, his voice awed. Penelope thinks it’s the opposite, but doesn’t say so. 

“I’m scared,” she admits. “I’ve never lied about anything big before. And I’ve certainly never been found out. And I’m- I’m worried that no one will ever want to be my friend again.” 

“Well, I’ll be at the party cheering you on,” Fred replies. “So you’ll have one friend there, no matter what. Just think about that.” 

Penelope swallows and gives him a watery smile. She fixes her eyes on Fred’s, doing her best not to let the tears spill over. “They’re all going to laugh at me, aren’t they?”

“They’d better not,” Fred replies with an exaggerated scowl. “And if anyone laughs, that says something about them, not you.” 

Penelope could almost cry. She didn’t deserve someone so caring! “I’m a liar, Fred,” she argues. “A big, fat, liar.” 

His hand lands on her shoulder again and squeezes, pulling her to a halt. “Everyone lies sometimes, Pen. And I have a feeling it might not be as bad as you think. It’s like getting a shot. The anticipation is worse than actually doing it.” 

Penelope sighs, blowing out a long stream of breath and fluttering the long strand of hair that had fallen across her nose. “I wish I had your confidence.” 

“Just trust me,” says Fred, holding the door open for her as they step out into the sunshiney parking lot, slick with a layer of snow and ice. “Things have a way of working out.” 

Fred walks her all the way to her car, even giving her a quick hug before she slides in behind the wheel. He hands her her books through the window, and Penelope places them carefully on the passenger side. Their breath makes white clouds in the air, though the day is warmer than usual, and the overhang of the roof is dripping a steady stream of ice. Typical Riverdale weather. It was supposed to get even warmer tomorrow - just in time for Hiram’s party. 

“See you around, Penelope,” Fred says as she puts the car in reverse. “Try to think positive.” 

“I will,” she lies tiredly, backing out of the parking space and rolling up the window. She gives Fred a quick wave before she drives off, but doesn’t really pay attention to what she’s doing. Her mind is full of worried, conflicting thoughts, and all she wants is for the party to be over. 

_ For the first time in my life _ , she thinks, speeding off in the direction of Thornhill,  _ It’s Friday night, and I wish it was Monday morning.  _

* * *

Stopping in front of the full-length mirror in the Lodge’s foyer, Penelope could hardly believe her eyes. The black dress Sierra had picked out was a real winner - the taffeta skirt cut beautifully just below her knee, and the bodice made her small breasts look fuller and perkier. The dark colour looked sensational against her pale skin and red hair, accentuated by Sierra’s gorgeous makeup job on her eyelids and lips. Hermione had pulled her hair back into a shiny knot, and Penelope thought she looked astoundingly mature. The silver locket shines around her pale neck, a burst of sparkle that brought out the light in her eyes. She’s never looked prettier. 

Or felt more miserable. 

As she steps into the house, the mahogany floors burnished to an unreal shine under her high-heeled boots, it feels all too appropriate that she’d worn black. Penelope is certain that she’s walking to her funeral. 

Taking a deep breath, she lifts her head up high. Oddly enough, Fred’s words had soothed her. Whatever happened tonight, at least one person wouldn’t hate her guts. It was somewhat reassuring. 

One of Hiram’s many servants takes her coat for her, bowing deeply before whisking it off to the coat closet. Penelope watches where he takes it, just in case she ends up having to make a quick getaway. The sound of rock music - so different from the classic overtures they’d listened to at Thornhill’s New Year’s party, though Penelope had finally persuaded her brothers to play some Cyndi Lauper as well - pounds through the house. Penelope takes a few tiny steps into the mansion, following the noise. 

The party is as ridiculous as she’d expected from Hiram, with a gold disco ball spinning on the ceiling of the ballroom and several long tables spread out along the wall, laden with food. A live band is playing, and two huge monitors are playing MTV videos on mute. Tuxedoed servants swarm from student to student, serving soda and champagne. Of course, there is a multitude of red solo cups among the throngs as well, and more than one person seems to be lighting up a blunt. Still, it’s hardly the scene of debauchery she’d painted for Rose. In fact, by Hiram’s standards, it was almost refined. 

Clyde would be touched that Hiram had scaled back so much for him. Too bad he’d never see it. 

To her relief, Fred is one of the first people she sees. He’s standing by the food, trying and failing to master the art of dipping strawberries in a chocolate fountain. FP is by his side, stuffing his suit pockets with mini shrimp. Fred keeps passing him strawberries, and FP is joyfully scarfing them down. If Penelope was here under less dire circumstances, she’d probably find their camaraderie oddly sweet, though she’s never liked FP much on the best of occasions. 

A few couples are already dancing, though Tom and Sierra aren’t among them. Penelope politely pushes her way through the crowd, seeking out her host. She finally finds Hiram at the far side of the ballroom, talking with some football players by a set of beautifully carved glass doors. Beyond the doors, a huge indoor swimming pool glitters, and beyond that a sheet of glass that separates the pool from the yard. The snow is piled up against the glass outside, but the heat in the Lodge Manor keeps the glass room as warm as the Caribbean. 

“Hello Hiram,” Penelope says politely, and Hiram’s eyebrows shoot way up as he turns to look at her.

“Well, well, well,” Hiram says, puffing his chest out like a peacock. “The guest of honour is here, huh? Where’s this guy, Clyde?” He cranes his neck, looking over the heads of other students. “I’d like to meet him.” 

_ So would I _ , thinks Penelope ruefully. “There’s actually something I’d like to tell you about him. “Are-” Her voice wavers, but she quickly tilts her chin up and forces herself to go on.  _ Think positive. _ “Are Hermione and Sierra here?” 

It hurts to say Sierra’s name. It hurts like a stab in the heart. 

Hiram jerks his head to one side, and Penelope follows the movement. Hermione is with Tamara and Sandra by the swimming pool, and Sierra is a little ways away with Darryl Doiley and some of her debate club friends. 

“Right,” Penelope says nervously, turning back to Hiram. “Do you think you could ask the band to stop playing after this song? Just for a moment? I have an announcement to make, and I guess everyone needs to hear it.” 

Smiling broadly, Hiram promises her that he’ll be right back. Penelope watches as he squeezes Hermione’s shoulder on his way to the stage. The head cheerleader looks interestedly around and smiles as her eyes land on Penelope - a smile that could be mistaken as friendly if Penelope didn’t know otherwise. She gulps and starts wading through people toward Fred and FP. The closer she was to them, the better she would feel. 

“Attention everyone!” Hiram is shouting into the gold microphone that the lead singer had been using. “Attention! Penelope here has an announcement to make!” 

The crowd of kids begin to murmur, startled by the abrupt cessation of the music. Hungry, curious eyes float in her direction, and Penelope is suddenly convinced that she’s going to faint. She’s never had so many people looking at her in all her life. Especially when she’s about to completely humiliate herself. Hiram keeps grinning, and Penelope watches as if in slow motion as he and Hermione, stationed at the front of the crowd, wink at each other. 

They were in on it. But was Sierra? A quick glance at her crush, standing close to Tom and Darryl in the middle of the throng, confirms Sierra’s innocence. She’s smiling warmly up at Penelope, with clearly no idea what’s about to happen. Penelope’s throat thickens. She wants to bolt. Maybe she could fake a fainting spell, or run for the bathroom. Maybe she could drown herself in the swimming pool.

“Well, Penelope?” Hiram’s amplified voice booms out through the room. The crowd, sensing something significant is about to happen, quiets completely. Penelope can feel herself trembling. 

“Hello everyone,” she begins, her voice just a little shaky. Her eyes scan the room frantically for Fred, but she suddenly can’t find him anywhere. “Thank you for coming to the party that Hiram was kind enough to throw for me and - and Clyde. I know I’ve been telling you all a lot of great things about him, and, well - I’d love for you all to meet him.” Penelope sucks in a deep breath, and forces herself to go on. “But-” 

“Penelope!” A male voice rings out through the room. Startled, the crowd shifts and parts, and Penelope freezes up as a tall brunette teenager she doesn’t recognize runs up to the stage and tosses an arm around her. His jacket reads CENTRAL HIGH ATHLETICS DEPARTMENT. Hiram’s jaw drops. 

“Sorry I’m late,” says the brunette, hugging her tight and kissing her on the cheek. Usually Penelope hated being grabbed by boys she didn’t know, but this boy’s touch was warm and innocent. He smelled good too. She stares at his blue eyes as he grins out at the crowd. “Did all these people really come to see me? You guys sure know how to throw a party in Riverdale.” 

“Who are you?” Penelope whispers frantically, keeping her voice too low for Hiram to hear. But instead of answering, the brunette pulls her tight against him and drops his lips to the shell of her ear.  

“Can I kiss you?” 

Penelope can only nod, mute. The stranger presses his lips to hers in a chaste but warm kiss, and when he pulls back, Penelope doesn’t miss a beat. “This is my boyfriend, Clyde,” she speaks up, and the crowd, at a loss for anything else to do, starts applauding. 

Hermione looks furious, her hands planted on her hips. “Uh.. let’s play some music,” Hiram speaks up quickly, shoving the mic back at one of the band members. 

Penelope and the brunette move quickly aside as the singer takes back the stage, and Penelope hurries to a corner of the room, dragging her saviour with her. Before anyone can follow them, they duck behind a line of servants carrying amplifiers, and then again behind a long black velvet curtain separating the kitchen from the ballroom. 

“Who are you?!” she demands as soon as they’re alone, but quickly clams up when she feels the presence of someone else at her elbow. But it’s only Fred, drifting in front of her to stand next to the boy who had kissed her. 

“I see you met Clyde,” he says, slapping the brunette on the arm and raising his eyebrows at Penelope. 

“But… but… who?” 

“This is Bob,” says Fred softly, slinging an arm around the taller boy. “He’s one of my old baseball buddies. He’s not from Centreville, and I think he’s a little over six two, but he’ll do, don’t you think?” 

“Pineview’s only about fifteen minutes from Central High, anyways,” says Bob. He’s even more handsome close-up, with flecks of gold in his eyes and a warm, youthful face. He extends a polite hand to Penelope. “Sorry, we didn’t really get the chance to meet properly.” 

Penelope takes his hand, dazed. “You saved my life,” she says. 

“The pleasure was all mine.” Bob grins. “Fred’s a good friend of mine. I can be Clyde for the evening, no trouble.” 

Penelope shakes her head sadly, guilt slowly settling in. “I don't deserve that. You must be a really decent guy to pull a dumb stunt like this. And you too, Fred.” She turns to her lab partner, tears swimming in her eyes. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” 

“Man, don’t worry about it, Penelope.” Fred smiles. “As I said, I’ve been in scrapes like this enough times.” 

“I don’t suppose you are single?” Penelope asks Bob, flushing. To her surprise Bob blushes too, staring down at his shoes and then at his nails. “I am,” he admits shyly, “but, well - that is, with - I’m more-” 

Fred takes the lead, slapping Bob on his arm again and grinning hastily. “Bob isn’t the dating type,” he corrects, and Penelope glances back at Bob’s perfectly manicured nails, then at Fred’s tight grip on his arm. Oh. That kind of baseball buddies. 

“That’s okay,” she says quickly, her thoughts drifting traitorously for a moment to Sierra, and then laughs and shakes her head. “This would be a pretty shitty foundation for a relationship anyway.” 

Fred glances over his shoulder, where the din from the party is growing louder. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” he offers. “I don’t know how long I can hold off Hermione and her friends, but I’ll try.” 

“No need.” Bob gallantly offers his arm to Penelope. “I think it’s time we made our grand re-entrance, don’t you?” 

Penelope can only smile. Bob leads her graciously out into the dance area, where the band has struck up a slower song and couples are swaying arm in arm, holding sticky solo cups behind each others' backs. He gently rests his hands on her waist, allowing Penelope to wrap her arms around his neck. Penelope’s head is still spinning. Somehow everything had worked out perfectly. Better than perfectly! Fred had completely saved her reputation.

“I’m so excited, Penelope,” Sierra says happily as they drift close to her and Tom. “Everything worked out perfect.” She smiles at Bob. “It’s so nice to meet you, Clyde. I’m Penelope’s friend, Sierra.” 

_ Friend. _

“It did work out perfect,” Penelope agrees, closing her eyes into Bob’s shoulder, but the words feel hollow. That wasn’t really true. Sure, Bob was willing to play the part for the night, and sure she could always stage a breakup before Sierra planned their double date. Sure, she probably owed Fred Andrews her life ten times over, and he’d gone to all that work for her. But it was still wrong. She was still lying.

_ I have to tell the truth, _ she realizes, her heart beating guiltily against Bob’s chest. _ I have to.  _

When the slow dance is over and a throng of admirers have moved in on Bob, asking him pleasant questions about Penelope and his baseball team, Penelope walks back across the floor to the food tables. Hiram is standing by his chocolate fountain, looking put-out, and soon enough Penelope sees the reason: Hermione is dancing with a senior, Eduardo Lopez, by the punch bowl. She sidles up beside him, her fingers crossed in her taffeta skirt. 

“Would you mind asking the band to stop playing again?” she asks softly. “There’s something else I need to say.” 

Hiram raises one eyebrow so high it disappears into his shiny hair, but nods his head. Penelope trails him toward the stage, feeling just as nervous as she had before, but oddly peaceful at the same time. At last, she knew she was doing the right thing. To everyone else, her life looked perfect, but Penelope knew deep down that after the party was over she was going to be as lonely as she’d ever been. At least now if her classmates rejected her, she’d deserve it. 

“Hi again,” she addresses the group when the mic is in her hand. Her voice echoes in the small ballroom. “I need to say something, um, and I’ll try to keep it brief. I told you all that I had a boyfriend named Clyde, and that was a lie. This boy-” She stretches a hand out toward Bob - “Is very gallantly playing the part of my boyfriend so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of all of you. But there is no Clyde. I told you all that I had a boyfriend because I was lonely and I wanted to fit in.” Penelope drops her gaze to her shoes, unwilling to meet the eyes of the crowd. “But I guess I learned my lesson. That’s - that’s all.” She puts the mic abruptly back in the holder, so that a loud thud blares from the speakers. “Good night."

She hadn’t intended to cry, but the tears come fast and hard as she sprints off the stage, ripping the stupid locket necklace off her neck as she does so. It was over. She knew she’d done the right thing, but she’d never be able to look at Sierra again. Her pulse beating loud in her ears, she dashes down the hall toward the front entrance and opens the door that she thinks is the coat closet. Damn. It’s just another room. She spots a grand bookshelf in the corner and almost laughs. Maybe she could cuddle up with the works of Lord Byron until the party ended. 

“Penelope!” A boy’s voice echoes from behind her, but one she recognizes this time. Penelope closes the door and turns to face Fred, his big smile still somehow in place. “I’m so proud of you,” he exclaims, and grabs her in a tight hug. Penelope can’t believe it. 

“Proud of me?” She sniffles and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m so stupid, Fred.” 

“You’re not stupid. You did what was right.” Fred’s smile flickers, replaced by an expression of worry. “Why are you so sad?” 

Penelope just shakes her head. “I didn’t embarrass Bob, did I?” she asks worriedly. “I’m so sorry if I did. I just couldn’t let everyone go on believing this dumb lie anymore.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about him.” Fred wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Last I heard, Ricky Mantle was boring him with his ERA. He’s having a great time.” 

Penelope laughs wetly and wipes her face again. Fred quickly unfolds a tissue and tucks it in her palm. 

“Did they laugh at me?” Penelope asks, her voice barely there. 

“No way!” Fred says emphatically. “Everyone was kind of shocked, but no one laughed. Honestly, I think they’re impressed.” Fred’s hand squeezes hers. “That took guts, Blossom.” 

Penelope can’t help but crack a small smile. She blows her nose and tucks the tissue in her pocketbook. “I think you’re the only person in this house who doesn’t think I’m a total freak.” 

“Well, that’s not so bad, is it?” Fred glances up at her, and Penelope realizes their faces are only inches apart. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.” He smiles encouragingly. “Like, twice as great as the average person here.” 

When was the last time a boy had said something like that to her? Never. Those things never happened to Penelope. 

For a brief moment, she wonders why she had been so fixated on blue eyes. Fred’s brown eyes were even deeper and kinder than Bob’s had been. And how bad was five foot ten, really? She was in heels, and she would still have fit perfectly against him. 

Fred seems to read her mind. “I know I don’t know much about poetry,” he begins, awkwardly tracing the back of her hand with his thumb. “But if you ever want to go to a baseball game, you can just ask me, you know.” 

“I’d like that,” Penelope replies honestly, surprising even herself. Fred’s face lights up in a smile. 

“Me too,” he says. 

Penelope isn’t sure which one of them moves first, but suddenly her hands are on Fred’s shoulders and Fred’s lips are on her lips and they’re kissing. Fred’s mouth is hot and gentle, and Penelope gently cards a hand through the back of his hair. 

“Pen?” Penelope breaks away from Fred at the sound of her name, and her heart abruptly plummets. Sierra and Tom are standing only five feet away from her at the end of the hall. 

“Sierra?” she asks nervously, her throat going thick. Tom’s expression is unreadable as they close the distance between the pairs, but Sierra looks sad. “Are you angry with me?” 

“I was surprised at first,” Sierra admits, glancing at Tom. Fred looks awkwardly off to the side, his hands wiggling into his pockets. “Both of us were. But I think I understand why you did what you did.” 

Penelope’s lip wobbles. “I just wanted friends,” she admits. “I know it was wrong to lie. I kept wanting to tell you the truth, but I just couldn’t.” 

Sierra smiles tersely at her and squeezes her free hand. “Why don’t you explain it to me over brunch tomorrow? We can make it a double date. That is, if this-” she gestures awkwardly to Fred and Penelope - “is the real deal. Or whatever. I won’t judge.” 

Penelope nods, squeezing Fred’s hand this time. “I think it is,” she says, earning a big smile from Fred. “I think it’s real.” 

“Hey, why wait?” Fred interrupts quickly. “I’ll grab Clyde - er, Bob - and we can make a whole thing of it.” He smirks. “I heard the chocolate fountain ran out, and I’m sure Hiram’s party is only going downhill from here.” 

Sierra laughs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Any other friends you want to invite while you’re at it?” 

_ Friends.  _ Penelope’s heart lifts in her chest. No, she wasn’t quite part of that group, not quite yet. But if she listened, if she was honest and really cared-   
  
Maybe,  _ maybe _ this was the start of something good. 


End file.
